


can i have this dance

by independentalto



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-05 16:31:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: SHIELD's first annual gala is on -- and it looks like none of them's got any game.(Phil still wonders who decided there would be one in the first place.)





	1. Hill and Coulson: SHIELD Matchmakers

“You’ve  _ got  _ to be fucking kidding me.”

“Language,” Coulson gently chided Hill as he peered over her shoulder, frowning as the bright blue memo in her hands. “A gala? Seriously? Who do they think we are? SHIELD High?”

“We might as well be, with this thing,” she snorted in return, plopping into a chair and crumpling the paper in her hands. Sighing, she aimed it at the trash can on the other end of the meeting room, exhaling in frustration when it just missed the rim. “Half of the men around here are too scared to ask the women, and the other half of the women are going to jump the gun.”

“I look at it this way,” Coulson sighed, tipping back in his chair and putting his feet up on the conference table. “It’s a good idea to make good on that betting pool.” Hill looked at him in surprise, raising an eyebrow at the idea that he would manipulate such circumstances for his own purposes. 

“You think this gala’s going to get Rogers and Romanoff together?” she asked, pulling up her phone’s calendar. “When’s it again? Hunter and Morse are out at the end of the week.”

“You’ve got a week to secure your date, Agent Hill,” Fury’s voice boomed out as he entered the conference room, wielding a memo of his own. He shot a glare at Coulson, who apologetically took his feet off of the table. “And I suggest you get on it quickly. It’s mandatory to have a date.” At that, her mouth fell open, eyes going wide.  _ She  _ had to get a date?

“Will that be all, sir?” she croaked out, mind already whirring at just who the hell she’d have to ask. Worst came to worst, she’d end up needing to promote one of the junior agents for a date. She’d rather do that than find it in her to ask her one-eyed superior to the gala. Besides, it wasn’t like she had  _ feelings  _ towards him...no, absolutely not. 

“Dismissed, Coulson and Hill.” Both of them stood in unison, Coulson elbowing Hill as soon as they were out the door. 

“So, when you going to ask Fury?” When he got no response, he goaded, “I could see it in his eye that he wanted to ask you.” Hill menacingly glared at him, stopping thei walk down the hallway. Undaunted, Coulson went on. “Come on, Maria. We all know you have a thing for him. So just suck it up and ask him already!”

“I am  _ not  _ about to ask Nick--” There was an eyebrow raise at the use of the director’s first name. “--to the gala, and he is  _ not  _ going to ask me.” That last fact was more than true. And besides, if by some miracle he did, she was not about to risk her reputation for one dance. “We are both going to have separate dates--”

“What, you going to ask one of the lowly field agents instead? I’m sure they’d jump at the chance to thaw out the infamous Queen Elsa of SHIELD--you know that nickname goes around, Maria--”

“Shut up, Coulson.”

“Sorry."

“--and we will  _ never  _ speak of this incident again.” Sighing, she hefted a stack of bright blue papers from a passing agent, handing half of the stack to Coulson. “I’ll handle the agents. You take your teams.” With that, Hill was off, leaving a dumbfounded agent in his wake. 

“Is this payback for asking about Fury?” he groaned, realizing that he was going to have to get the most stubborn people in the world to attend a  _ dance _ . “Maria?” he called as she stalked away. “Maria? Maria--?!”

“I see you’ve been assigned the Avengers, Agent Coulson.” Fury stealthily appeared behind him. “Remember, I’ve got a good fifty riding on the 13th. Get Rogers and Romanoff together, will you?” Coulson would have made some quippy remark about getting he and Hill together first, but the director was already down the hall, stopping to terrorize some other agent. 

And there was a bigger problem: How the  _ hell  _ was he supposed to ask  _ May  _ to a  _ gala _ ?

* * *

 

“Phil!” Pepper exclaimed as Coulson and Hill strode into her office, flyers in their arms. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Seeing the grim look on his face, her cheerful demeanor quickly faltered. “What’s going on? Are the guys hurt? Is Natasha alright? Is your team alright?” She paused. “Please tell me Skye’s all right.” The hacker had become a sort of daughter to them all, Pepper especially. 

“Relax, Ms. Potts.” Coulson reassured her, handing the flyer to the confused CEO. “I can assure you no one’s in immediate danger.” It was his turn to pause. “Unless somehow something’s gone wrong in the last couple of hours we’ve left them.”

“I wouldn’t rule it out,” Pepper snorted, reading through the flyer. “SHIELD annual gala? I’ve never heard of this.” She set the paper down, giving the two agents a confused look. “What are you giving this to me for?”

“As part of a liaison to the Avengers,” Hill answered, “your attendance with a date is necessary.” She raised an eyebrow. “Of course, we’re all assuming you’re going with Stark, but if that’s incorrect...”

“Speaking of plans,” Pepper interjected, sending a covert glare at Coulson, who hastily backed out of the room. As soon as the door shut, she converged on the second-in-command. “Now. Are you asking Nick? Or is he asking you?” 

Hill, surprised by the sudden turn in events, spluttered. “Wh-wh-what?” Struggling to regain her composure, she answered hesitantly, “You know as well as I do that  _ Director Fury _ isn’t mandated to attend the gala.” She wouldn’t admit it, but the only person that Hill was scared of (aside from Romanoff, but who wasn’t?) was Pepper Potts. 

“Bullshit,” Pepper snorted, getting up from her desk with tablet in hand. Still swiping through it, she addressed the agent. “You may be the matchmaker to everyone else, Maria, but I’m going to matchmake the matchmaker.” She tilted the tablet so that Hill could see its screen. “Blue and white. Knee-length. Clear your schedule. We’re going shopping next week.”

“If you can get Romanoff, I’m in,” With a triumphant smirk, Hill was back on top of her game. There was no way in hell Pepper would get her to go shopping. As far as she knew, Natasha would rather date Banner than go dress shopping. “What’s your date on the pool?”

“May 22,” Pepper answered briskly, tapping some points on her tablet. “Which is now coincidentally the date of the gala.” She looked up, raising an eyebrow at the other woman. “Ask Nick.  _ Do it soon. _ ” Her expression softened. “You might end up with more than you think.”

“Can I, Pepper?” Hill asked as she was halfway out the door. “Can I?” The door shut, and Pepper automatically fished out her Starkphone, dialing 7. 

“Nat, it’s me.” she said into the other end of the line. “My office. Ten minutes.”

* * *

 

“What was so important that I needed to be here?” Natasha complained as she fixed her ponytail, some loose red tendrils escaping. “You couldn’t ave waited until tonight to tell me? We have those meetings for a reason, you know.” In response, Pepper slid the gala flyer across the desk to the assassin, who scanned it rapidly. “You want Steve and I to go public at the gala.”

“It’s the perfect opportunity,” Pepper shrugged noncommittally.  _ And the perfect time to make some money. _

“Fitz and Simmons?” The spy’s nothing but direct. “Phil and Mel?” A sly eyebrow. “Nick and Maria? You know I’ve got ten bucks riding on the 30th.”

“I don’t know about the first two, but I’ve definitely pushed Maria into starting for the third one,” Pepper confided, elbows on her desk. “So. Will you do it? Go public at the gala, I mean.” She fished out her tablet once again, swiping through endless pages. “I’ve already given a thought to what color dress you’re wearing--obviously, you can’t clash with anyone, so I’m going to go with a gradient--everyone else will be pulling florals and solids, god knows if there’s anyone that can pull it off, it’s you--”

“Pepper!” Natasha laughed, snapping the CEO out of her reverie. “You’re forgetting one important thing. I haven’t been asked. I’m the only one that knows about it. You don’t see anyone else scrambling for dates, do you?”

“Oh, I’m sure Tony’s going to assume we’re going together,” Pepper snorted, not even looking up. “After all, who  _ wouldn’t  _ want to go with the great Tony Stark, am I right?” She rolled her eyes. “Men.”

“At least he’ll ask you in some sort of way,” Natasha sighed, fiddling once more with her ponytail. “I don’t think Steve’s going to ask me. I mean, have you seen how long it takes him to get things like this done? It took him three months to ask me out!”

“Give it time,” Pepper advised her friend. “You have to remember that he’s new to all of this. Even in the modern world. All of the dates he had before you were set up. I don’t think he’s ever asked a girl to a dance before.”

“All the same, I’ll probably end up asking him,” she muttered, retying her hair once more, the elastic band snapping into place. “That is, if everyone’s not going to try and get us together before the gala.” When Pepper looked surprised, she snorted. “Please. I’m a spy. Just what do you think escapes me? I know Fitz and Simmons are trying to whip up a love potion--they’re out tomorrow. Mel has her bets on three weeks from now. Even Thor’s in on it. He has six weeks.”

“Just so you know, Maria’s going to try and matchmake you,” the CEO stuttered out, trying to recover from the fact that the entire pool had been figured out. “So be prepared. Oh, and also, clear your schedule--she says that if I can get you to go shopping, she’ll go.”

“Maria going dress shopping?” Natasha’s answering grin was absolutely feral. “Even if I didn’t need a dress, I’d go just to see Hill shopping.”

* * *

 

“Alright, everyone, listen up,” Coulson tried later that night, as all of the Avengers (as well as the Bus team) were assembled in the living room. “Guys? Guys!” Damn Hill for sticking him with this assignment. “Guys, I have something to say!”

That didn’t work, so with a sigh, he withdrew his gun, pointed it at the ceiling, and fired off a shot. Everyone quieted in an instant--at least  _ that  _ still worked. “I have an announcement to make.”

He handed out the flyers, preparing for the onslaught that was to come.  _ Three...two...one... _

“A gala.” May’s statement was dangerously short. “We’re required to attend a  _ gala _ .” Coulson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d already caused himself enough stress this afternoon trying to figure out how to ask May in a way that wouldn’t get him killed. And also in a way that didn’t come off as romantic. As in love with her as he was, he wasn’t ready to die for those feelings just yet. 

“With a date,” he answered promptly, feeling that that was the best response. The level of awkwardness in the room racheted up three notches as certain couples avoided looking at each other, especially (which he noted with some satisfaction) Natasha and Steve. In fact, the only ones that didn’t look out of place were Tony and Thor. 

The latter simply glanced across the room at Pepper, nodding. “You’re going to the gala with me, right?” The blonde affectionately rolled her eyes, simply accepting the invitation with a flick of her hand before shooting a ‘I-told-you-so’ look at Natasha. 

Thor just laughed happily to himself before picking Jane up in his arms, carrying her to the elevator, she shrieking all the way for him to put her down. “Not cool! Not cool!” 

The group sigh was audible.  _ If only it was as easy for the rest of them as it was for Tony and Thor.  _

_ I wonder if Fitz will ask me,  _ Simmons mused.  _ There’s nothing wrong with two people going to a dance as friends. Even if one of said friends has feelings towards the other... _

_ There’s no way in hell Simmons is going to ask me,  _ Fitz gloomed.  _ Why would it be me? _

_ How the bloody hell am I going to ask Bob?  _ was Hunter’s exasperated groan.  _ I can’t tell her I’ve never asked a girl to a dance before! _

_ Won’t be the first time I’ve gone solo, I guess.  _ Clint shrugged to himself.

_ Does this mean Tony’s going to force me into that purple suit he’s been talking about?  _ Bruce realized in horror.  _ I got to get Pepper to take me shopping. I look like an eggplant in that suit. _

_ Would Phil ask me?  _ It was a very dangerous thought Melinda May was entertaining in her head, but yet, she couldn’t help it.  _ Am I going to have to ask him just to save face? _

_ I got to do this perfectly,  _ Steve told himself.  _ Nat’s counting on me to make the perfect proposal. What if I screw this up? I’ve never done something like this before. I can’t screw this up. I can’t. Nat means too much to me to screw this up.  _

_ God, he looks cute when he’s nervous,  _ Natasha giggled quietly to herself.  _ But I really hope he does come through with the whole thing. I’m not one for the whole ‘will-you-go-to-the-dance-with-me’ proposals. Never went to high school. Definitely not about to start now. _

It was Skye who broke the silence with her despairing cry. “Who the hell am I gonna go with?”

* * *

 

“Okay, we got everyone?” Coulson asked Hill hushedly the next morning. Both teams, minus Steve and Natasha, were gathered outside of the kitchen. “We know the plan?”

“Pretend to go rogue, scare the shit out of Stasha, lock them into a closet. I think we know it pretty well,” Clint, who was dressed in full battle gear, bounced on the balls of his feet. “Although did we need all of us? It’s going to be a pretty hard time convincing them that we’ve  _ all  _ gone rogue.”

“Not all of us have,” May quipped from the other side of the room. “Only some. The rest are there to ‘guide’ them to the shelter.” She grinned. “I gotta say, I haven’t scared the crap out of Romanoff since April Fools’ Day of ‘98.” Coulson, Clint and Bobbi winced--they all remembered that quite well.

“Everyone ready?” Skye asked, firing up her ICER. There were various nods from Clint, Thor, Hunter, Bobbi and FitzSimmons, all armed with various weapons. Well, for FitzSimmons, it was more of a chemically modified pepper spray, but a weapon was a weapon. At least, that’s what Simmons claimed. 

“Let’s give ‘em hell.”

“Okay, obviously you missed something somewhere, Rogers,” Natasha smirked at Steve, who was staring dejectedly at the new coffee maker. “Did you forget to pull a switch? Switch a lever? Or, heaven forbid--” In one fluid move, she pulled open the cover, gesturing to the empty filter inside. “--did you forget to put the coffee beans in?”

“I don’t know how I did that,” he sighed, reaching above him for the cabinet that held the coffee. In truth, he’d been a little more than preoccupied with trying to come up with the perfect proposal--there just didn’t seem to be anything that  _ clicked  _ for him. “Sorry, Nat. I’ll remember the coffee beans next time.”

Suddenly, a bullet came flying right as to where his hand had been a second ago, hitting the coffee maker instead. Both of them turned slowly to the source of the shot, eyes widening to see May, gun aloft. 

“May?” Steve asked, slowly putting his hands up. “What are you--”

“I’d follow what he does, Romanoff,” Coulson’s voice echoed from the other end of the kitchen, “Unless you’d rather see your precious partner bleed to death right before your eyes.” At that, Natasha snorted. 

“Okay, whoever’s idea it was to sent  _ Coulson  _ to threaten to shoot Steve clearly hasn’t done their homework,” she began. “You could never do it, Phil. Shoot your childhood idol? I think you’d sooner rather kiss May.” 

“Now wouldn’t be a good time to practice your sarcasm, Romanoff,” Bobbi said from behind Coulson, making the redheaded spy gulp in fear. “So. Hands on your head, or your head can meet the floor.”

Natasha’s eyes met Steve’s, absolutely refusing to show panic, yet panicking at the same time.  _ Rogue,  _ she tried to communicate.  _ What’s our battle plan? _

_ We fight.  _ That was one of the things about the two of them--on and off the field, they understood each other perfectly. It was unparalleled to even her working relationship with Clint. Quickly, she nodded, then grabbed a pan, lobbing it at May’s head. 

Steve sprung into action after her, bullets flying everywhere as the three agents ‘tried’ to get off a shot at the duo, eventually letting them into the hallway and over to the elevator. As the doors, closed, Coulson, May and Bobbi dropped their demeanors, Coulson even sighing. 

“She was right,” he groaned. “They should’ve put me on the relief team.”

“How has this whole entire tower gone rogue?” Natasha demanded as she and Steve ducked down once more, this time to avoid a barrage of fire from Hunter and Maria. “It’s like they all planned this!”

“Not everyone’s rogue,” Skye answered, jumping down from her preconceived place in the vents. She began to return fire, throwing an extra ICER to Natasha--the spy did have her own guns, but she’d prefer not to use them on her own teammates. “And quite frankly, Romanoff, I’m insulted. You really think I’d switch sides that easily?” She threw another one to Steve, who sighed but began to fire, trying to not cheer at the fact that he was actually hitting people. “Go. Closet at the end of the hall. I’ll cover you.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, dashing to the end of the hallway, through the open door and shutting it forcefully before collapsing against it, slightly out of breath. Distinctly, they could hear the sound of a lock clicking, and the sound of high-fives. 

A muffled groan escaped Natasha. “I think we’ve just been set up.” She felt around for a light switch, barely containing her laughter at the setup she found. A large, king-sized bed was located in the middle, the blankets a dark red. Various snacks were scattered around the room, a refrigerator even occupying a corner. “And in Stark’s bunker, no less.”

“Well,” Steve answered, stretching. “I don’t know about you, but I  _ really  _ need a nap.” He sent a wink at her, Natasha blushing at the insinuation. He flopped onto the bed, grabbing an edge of the covers and snuggling into them. 

She’d never get over how he was a blanket snuggler, Natasha concluded as she slid in beside him, his arm automatically curling around to include her in his embrace. But then again, she wasn’t about to tell anyone she loved being a little spoon. 

“You mean to tell me you locked them in my bunker?!” Tony’s voice went up three octaves when the team explained the situation to him, only half of them sounding apologetic. 

Clint was not one of them.

“Listen, Stark, I have my money put out for the next four days, all right? I’m going to win this damn pool, no matter how hard I have to try. And if that means locking Romanogers into your precious bunker, so be it. No, I don’t care if they eat all of your precious snacks, I’ll replace them--yes, even the one-of-a-kind Belgian truffle,” he answered as Tony began to protest. “I need a win and I’m going to take _ this  _ win.”

Just then, Steve and Natasha emerged from the bunker, looking distinctly ruffled. The team looked at each other in glee, only to have their hopes dashed at their next words. 

“Great nap. You really know how to pick your mattresses, Stark,” Natasha remarked, stretching. “Pity you couldn’t exude the same benevolence on the ones you put into our apartments. By the way,” she said to him, “loved that Belgian truffle. Got any more of those?”

“Damn it,” May said to no one in particular after they’d left. “I’m out. ”

* * *

"Friend Banner, I am in need of your assistance,” Thor proclaimed later that afternoon, strolling into the kitchen. Bruce was making his daily cup of tea, measuring the tea leaves into his mug. 

“Me? Why would you need me?”

“I have been told that an elaborate proposal is needed to ask Lady Jane to this ball,” the god began. “I wish to stage a momentous occasion. I do not trust Friend Stark, nor do I feel Friend Barton is worthy for this occasion.”

“I still don’t see how you’ll need me,” Bruce answered, looking dubious, “but I’ll do it. What is it that you need me to do?”

“Is there any chance you could prevent Friend Stark from leaving his laboratory quarters for the next five hours?”

_ Ah. Distraction.  _ “Well, that’s about the only thing I  _ can  _ do.” Grabbing his tea, he headed towards the lab. “See you in about five hours, man. Make sure you pull this off.”

“Thank you!” Steve was the next one to stroll in, and Thor quickly cornered him for his help. “Captain! Could you possibly assist me in my endeavors to ask Lady Jane to the gala? I plan for a romantic picnic on the rooftops. Friend Banner has already been enlisted to keep Friend Stark confined in the laboratory. I require aid to concoct a Midgardian meal.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely, sure,” Steve chuckled. “What are we making?”

“I have naught an idea.”

“Let’s go for mac and cheese,” he suggested, leading the god to the kitchen. “It’s easy to make, and it’s still a comfort food.” Thor went along with it, nodding like it was what would get him out of the apocalypse. “Okay, I need you to get the spiral pasta and the cheeses out of the cabinet.”

“Well, I think we did good,” Steve exhaled, wiping a hand on his forehead some time later. In front of both men stood a large, heaping pot of macaroni and cheese, bubbling to the brim with cheesy goodness. Thor gave it couple of stirs, just for good measure, before ladling the entirety of it into thermoses. “Hope she says yes after this.”

“I am sure she will,” Thor murmured, screwing on the lid. “Lady Darcy has informed me that this macaroni and cheese is one of my lady’s favorite foods.”

“She’ll definitely say yes, then.”

“I am off, my friend,” he said to the super-soldier, hoisting the large picnic basket in which the thermoses were kept. “Wish me luck!”

* * *

He may have done a lot of things in his lifetime, but asking a lady to a gala was not one of them. As he approached the rooftop, having set out a lovely red-and-white checkered picnic blanket beforehand, he found Jane already sitting on it, gazing out at the city.

“Well, I have to say, this is surprising,” she remarked as Thor sat down next to her, setting Moljnir down beside him. “Any special occasion for this?”

“I would rather we dine before I broach this subject,” he returned easily, opening the picnic basket and handing her a thermos. “Then, shall it not go over so well, at least we shall have dined on the fine efforts of the Captain and I.”

“The efforts of--Thor, what did you and Steve-- _ oh! _ ” Wafts of steam had emerged from the thermos when Jane had opened it, and her face lit up at the sight of the gooey macaroni and cheese. “How did you know?”

“Let’s just say it occurred to me.” Shyly, Thor handed her a fork, beaming in delight when she dug in enthusiastically. “Does it satisfy you?”

“Satisfy me? Thor, this is the best macaroni and cheese I’ve ever eaten! Did Steve come up with this?” Jane’s mouth was full, cheese sauce splattered on her chin. Never had she looked more beautiful than at the moment, he decided, and opened his own, tentatively tasting it. Flavor exploded into his mouth, resulting in him reaching for another forkful. No wonder this food was highly coveted among Midgardians. 

“Aye, he did. He said something about Lady Romanoff reserving the exclusive rights to his recipe. I feel it is unwise to tell her that we have consumed this.” A thermos was finished off, and he reached for another, opening it eagerly. Nerves got the better of him, and he set the metal container down gently. Noticing his gesture, Jane did the same, appraising him. “Jane, I wish to ask you about something.”

“It’s Sif, isn’t it?” Her eyes clouded up, and she looked away to prevent herself from crying. “I knew it. I knew it, knew it, knew it,” she chanted to herself. “You can keep her on the side if you want. Or me. I know they don’t really like me on Asgard since your mother died for me and all.”

“No, no, not at all,” he murmured, drawing her up into his arms. The sun was setting even lower now, bathing them in golden light. “‘Tis not a sad occasion, my lady. Do not cry.” He drew her back so that he could look into her eyes. “As you know, the gala of SHIELD is to be in two weeks. Every Avenger is required to bring a partner to the ball.” He went down to his knees, holding her hand. “I wish to know if I could have the honor of your company at the gala.”

Jane froze, the turnaround a bit too much for her. “You’re asking me to the ball?”

“Indeed, I feel that I am.”

“You brought me up here, cooked me mac and cheese, and got down on one knee. To ask me to the ball.” She burst into tears, happy ones this time, as she brought him back up and leapt into his arms. “Of course. How could I say no?”

“Oh  _ god, _ we’re going to look so bad next to this,” Coulson lamented from the living room, where he was watching the conversation with Steve and Hunter. “How the hell are we supposed to beat the rooftop and mac and cheese?”

“Who’s having mac and cheese?” Natasha’s voice echoed from the hallway. Steve froze, while Hunter and Coulson simply answered in unison,

“Jane and Thor.”

Steve just ran for it.

* * *

 

“You’re kidding,” Hill exclaimed loudly. “You got Romanoff to go  _ dress shopping _ ? She  _ hates  _ shopping!” Of all of the things Natasha had to fall through on, it was this one. It was bad enough she was worrying about who to take--now she had to add on an afternoon of dress shopping?

“That I did. Surprised, Maria?” Of course she was. Pepper smirked to herself. Sometimes, there were perks to being privy to every piece of gossip in the Tower. “Now. Two o’ clock. Make sure you bring comfortable shoes.”

“I think we’re living in the Twilight Zone,” Skye remarked quietly, as she, Bobbi, Simmons, Jane and Hill watched Pepper and Natasha enthusiastically shop for dresses. “Never in my life have I seen Romanoff so excited to go shopping.”

“There’s got to be something that we’re missing,” Hill agreed. “She  _ hates  _ shopping. What does Pepper know that we don’t?” She snapped her fingers. “That’s it. Pepper must have some sort of blackmail on Nat that we don’t know about.”

“With all due respect to Agent Romanoff,” Simmons piped up, “shouldn’t it be the other way around? She doesn’t seem like the type to leave incriminating evidence just lying around.”

“ _ Please _ ,” Jane snorted. “I heard her last week singing ‘Royals’ in the shower.”

“You guys better have choices!” Pepper threatened from the other side of the rack, where she and Natasha were currently riffling through numerous dresses. “Or, so help me, I will set the wrath of a sleep-deprived Tony on you.”

With a shout, all five of them scrambled for the racks, feverishly searching for  _ something  _ that would make them look good. Bobbi was the first one to strike gold, triumphantly holding up a navy blue dress, rhinestones studding up the left side in a line that gradually filled out the heart-shaped neckline. “I think I’m good for the day, ladies.”

Simmons was next, holding up a black-and-floral number. The bottom and shoulders were done in floral, with black in between both areas. The flowers perfectly fit her prim English personality, and she grinned in excitement. “Now, if only I could ask Fitz to the gala.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Skye murmured, searching for her own result. “If anything, he should be the one asking you.” She held up her selection for judgement, sighing in relief when it passed muster. It was a one-shouldered black dress, with a rhinestone-studded middle belt and a sash-like shoulder. “I’m good. Can I go back to the tower?”

“Help?” It was Jane who was the most surprising, holding up what was easily the most elegant dress of the evening. The sleeves capped at T-shirt length, made of lace which extended down to the waist, where it was met with a slight, black belt before blowing out into a long, turquoise train. Her face peeked out from behind it, apprehensive. “Think I’ll be okay?”

“Okay? Jane, you’ve done the best out of all of us, I think!” Pepper sauntered over, taking the dress from the bewildered scientist’s hands. “Simmons, we’re taking you out of your comfort zone next time. Skye, why black? Your suit’s black already, but seeing as we haven’t got time...Bobbi, again, we’re taking you out of  _ your  _ comfort zone next time.”

“I swear to god, Pepper, I’m going to  _ kill  _ you.” 

Hill stepped out in a one-shouldered blue-and-white dress, the strap over her shoulder a pure white before meeting a navy blue chest piece, which intersected a white belt before flowing out once more into the navy skirt. Had she not been scowling, the picture would’ve been complete. 

“He’d be a fool not to ask you,” came Natasha’s sarcastic remark from her changing stall. “Which I  _ still  _ don’t understand, by the way.”

“I’m not going to do it!” Hill huffed, whirling around to face the spy’s stall. “If I do it, it’ll look like I’m kissing ass to try and get the deputy director position, which you  _ know  _ I don’t want. I don’t need people thinking that I’m sleeping with my boss to hold my position!” She glared daggers at the stall, hoping Natasha would get the subliminal message. “I’m not going to do it. Point made.”

“I still think you should do it,” the other woman sighed, nonchalantly emerging from her stall. She’d donned a gradient red and black dress, the top starting from black, cinched by a black leather belt before slowly transitioning into red. Each woman’s jaw dropped. 

Pepper just sighed and hefted her periwinkle dress over her shoulder. After Nat, there really was no point.

* * *

 

“May.” Coulson stopped just short of colliding with his second-in-command as he rounded a corner. “I’ve been meaning to find you.”

“Have you?” She’d been avoiding him during their stay so far, hoping to  _ not  _ have this awkward conversation about the gala, but fate apparently had other plans. “Guess we’ve just been avoiding each other.”

“We need to talk about the gala.” And just like that, he was off and running. “You and I both know that we have to bring dates, and I thought it would be a good idea if we, you know, went together. As friends. Because we need to set an example for the team and all, and you know how Fitz and Simmons are with each other, and Bobbi and Hunter are never going to make a move towards each other, and--”

“I’ll do it.”

“I thought it would just be best if we showed some Bus stability and--wait, what?”

“I said I’ll do it, Coulson.” The tiniest bit of a smirk showed on her face. “I’ll go to the gala with you. As friends. It’ll be fun.”

“Really?” His face lit up like a kid on Christmas. “You will? Thanks, May!” He dashed off, trying to restrain himself from cheering. It didn’t happen. “I’M GOING TO THE GALA!”

“LANCE HUNTER!” For the first time in four days, Bobbi spotted her elusive boyfriend vanishing around a corner, and immediately gave chase. “YOU COME BACK HERE!” Hunter's screams could be heard as he ran down the hallway, Bobbi on his heels. 

Unfortunately, he hit a dead end, backing up against the wall as Bobbi stalked up to him, murder written in her eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me all week. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I have been?” Hunter desperately looked everywhere, trying to avoid Bobbi’s glare. “I think we keep missing each other, Bob, I haven’t been avoiding you, you see--”

“You’re avoiding me, Hunter.” Her hands were planted on her hips, never a good sign. “What’s going on?”

“See, there’s this matter that I had to get tied up, and I didn’t really know how to--” At her continued glare, he broke. “Fine! It was about the gala, and I had no bloody idea on how to ask you!” He threw his hands up in the air. “As a matter of fact, I  _ still  _ don’t!”

“All you had to do was ask,” Bobbi scoffed, albeit slightly softer. “I’m not one for big proposals, Hunter. You know that. I saw what Thor did for Jane. And I’m pretty sure Coulson asked May over an almost-collision in the hallway. It doesn’t have to be that hard.”

“How was I supposed to beat  _ Thor _ ?” Hunter pleaded, gesturing wildly. “He used  _ mac and cheese!  _ And the bloody  _ rooftop _ ! If that doesn’t damage a guy’s ego, then I don’t know what does!”

“Just cut to the chase,” Bobbi sighed. “Are you taking me to the gala or not?”

“Would you be so kind as to accompany me, Bob?”

“I thought you’d  _ never  _ ask.”

* * *

 

_ Shit, no, there’s Fury. _ Hill’s footsteps quickened as she tried to hurry to her office, attempting to avoid Fury’s line of sight. She’d been doing this all week, even going so far as to call in sick for a day just to shave off a day of avoiding him. And she  _ never  _ called in sick. 

It really did show how desperate she was to prove her own independence.

“Agent Hill.”

_ And there we go.  _ She sighed quietly, turning around to face her boss. “Yes, Director?”

“Do you happen to have a date to the gala next week?”

_ Was he asking her?  _ Her mind threw itself into overdrive, despite all of the training she’d done.  _ Was he seriously asking her?  _ “No, sir. Why do you ask?”  _ He couldn’t seriously be asking her.  _

“I think it would be in SHIELD’s... _ best  _ interests if we were to attend it together,” Fury began, looking her dead in the eye. “After all, with all of our best agents in party wear, security detail’s going to be a little short. I need someone with me to make sure things don’t go awry.”

“We all know that just means Stark.” She rolled her eyes, remembering what Tony had pulled at the last party. It’d taken a good chunk of money to pay off all of the public defenders. “I suppose I’ll have to accompany you to the gala then, it seems.”

“It would please me immensely if you did.”

Around the corner, Tony did a fist pump. “Pay up, suckers. I win.”

* * *

 

“Okay, this is all we’ve got,” Coulson said to Hill, as Steve and Natasha gathered in the kitchen, an eerie reminiscence of their first attempt. Minus all of the firearms. “We fail this, everyone’s officially out. Except Pepper, but that’s never going to happen.” He sighed. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Both of them charged in, proclaiming loudly about needing to talk to the couple separately. “I swear to god, Natasha, it’s important.” “Captain Rogers, I really need your opinion concerning a mission.”

Steve and Natasha barely had time to shoot each other confused looks before allowing themselves to be dragged out of the room against their wills. 

“What’s this about, Coulson?” Steve asked, genuinely concerned. 

“This had better be good, Maria.”

Just like they’d planned, Coulson and Hill shouted in unison, “JUST ASK HIM/HER ALREADY!” Then, in the ensuing silence that followed, they took the time to run like hell towards the elevator, jumping in and heading downwards before Steve and Natasha had realized what they’d done. 

Slowly, Steve peeked around the corner to see a shocked Natasha. “Nat?”

“I was kind of hoping you’d ask me, you know.”

Her sentence was short and direct, and guilt washed over Steve as he stepped into the room. Natasha was avoiding his gaze, drawing into herself. She showed no change as he came closer, not even relenting when he drew her into his arms. 

“I would have. I really would have.”

“Then why didn’t you? Why’d you make mac and cheese for Jane and Thor? You know I love that stuff!”

“It was Thor, Nat. You know how clueless he is about cooking.”

“Yeah, well, you’re clueless about asking people to dances, it seems.”

“Then by all means, let me rectify that.” Without another word, Steve ran out of the room, leaving Natasha utterly confused as to what had just happened. She got her answer a minute later then the PA clicked on, Steve’s voice crackling over the system. 

“Hi, everyone. Sorry to bother your day. I’m Steve. In case you didn’t know. And I’m here today to ask a certain someone a very special question. 

A few years ago, I had no idea where my life was going. All I knew was the job. I didn’t know how to slow down. Where to stop. When to stop. I think I was pretty close to self destructing, actually.” He paused. “But then I met a gal who made me stop and think about life. What I was missing. She gave me everything without asking anything in return. And every single day of my life, I wake up thankful to have her. Which is why I’m here. I’ve done a crappy job of dance-posals, so here’s my best attempt. Natasha Romanoff, would you go to the SHIELD gala with me?”

“GODDAMMIT, ROMANOFF, SAY YES!” Skye.

“I THOUGHT YOU’D SAID YES ALREADY!” Pepper.

“WAIT, THEY’RE TOGETHER?!” The shocked gasps of the rest of the teams could be heard, even out of range of the PA. 

“What happened to telling each other everything, Nat?!” Clint’s sad wail could be heard from two floors down. 

“So...Nat? What do you think?”

From nowhere, Steve emerged holding a large bouquet of roses, a shy grin on his face. Natasha’s hand flew to cover her mouth, barely bothering to conceal her gasp. She was speechless. She could’ve said yes in a dozen different languages. Luckily, he interpreted her silence correctly.

“Is that a yes?”

“...in every language.”


	2. Romanoff's Psychology Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a gala without drama?

The knock was timid, a barely there sound that made Natasha almost neglect it. But there it was once more, and this time, she was sure she wasn't hallucinating. She sluggishly got out of bed--curse Steve for wearing her out last night--and shuffled towards the door.

To be perfectly honest, she couldn't imagine who was at the door. Pepper, maybe, to ask her once more if she  _ really _ going to wear those shoes with her dress. (Her Converse were perfectly fine with the gradient, thank you very much. She liked those sneakers--there was nothing wrong with wearing them to a gala.) Hill, maybe, to freak out about taking Fury to the gala. Possibly May, although she couldn't imagine her showing any emotion over the possibility of she and Coulson.

"Simmons?"

Okay,  _ that _ one she hadn't expected.

Natasha swung her door wider to allow the scientist in, and Simmons scurried past her, as if afraid she was going to get caught going into Natasha's apartment. "What's going on?"

"I was--I was wondering--that is, if you wouldn't mind--you see, it's--I can't--I don't--" Simmons was clearly struggling to get the words out, having gone through about three different shades of red during her stuttered explanation. She hung her head abashedly in front of the spy, who was struggling not to laugh. "I need your advice, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha's green eyes sparkled with mirth, but she managed to tamp down her laughter. "What's up, Simmons?"

"It's Fitz," she exhaled frustratedly, tipping her head back in annoyance. "He hasn't asked me to the gala yet." Her voice grew small at her next admittance. "And I don't want to be the only one there without a date,  _ especially _ when I know he wants to take me as much as I want to take him and I already bought my dress and I don't want to be the pitiful one and ask him because that really would make me look awful--"

"Just ask him." Natasha frowned at the meek scientist. At the inquisitive look on Simmons' face, she rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Jemma. Really. This isn't the 1920's. Or the 1800s. It's not going to kill you or make you look bad if you ask him. It all depends on whether you're willing to do it."

“Well, of  _ course  _ I am, I’m not some prissy little American who’s willing to sit around for their entire life while they’re waiting for a knight in shining armour to come and gallantly ask them to something as paltry as a dance--” Simmons caught the look on Natasha’s face and fell silent. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Fitz says I’ve got to learn to get it under control.”

“No, no, it’s quite refreshing,” the spy smirked. “You’re talking to the one who’s wearing Converse to the gala. Honestly? I’m annoyed everyone else had to wait for their guys to ask them. Except Thor and Steve. Because really. You can’t dissuade those two from a good proposal.”

“What am I going to  _ do,  _ Natasha?” Simmons moaned, looking on the verge of screaming. “Even if I  _ were  _ to ask him to the gala, how in the hell would I do it? It’s not like I can cook up a giant batch of mac and cheese--it’s not like Fitz likes that anyways, it’s more of a prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella, small bit of pesto aioli--but that’s beside the point!” She threw her hands up. “How am I supposed to top Thor?!”

“You don’t have to,” Natasha’s voice was soothing yet determined at the same time. “The guys are in their own element. You’ve got your own. Besides, they’ve been doing this for years. Of course they have more practice.” She gave an elegant shrug. “Think about it, Simmons. What do you and Fitz both like?”

“Running away from May’s juice cleanses?” When Simmons received a shake of the head, she tried again. “Running away from Bobbi and Hunter?” A snicker and another shake of the head. “...Skye?”

“Come on, Simmons. There’s a reason the entire Tower calls you FitzSimmons.”

“Right! Science!” Once she got the answer right, Simmons’ face lit up like Thor whenever he found a specialty Pop-Tart. “You’re saying I should ask him with science?”

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t,” Natasha snorted. “There’s plenty of ways you can ask with science. Blow something up. Make a fungi. Get a DWARF to do it or something, I don’t know?” 

“That’s it!” Simmons exclaimed, suddenly inspired. She headed for the door, her face bright. “I know what I’m going to do!” Just as the door shut, her voice could be heard from down the hallway. “Thanks, Natasha!”

* * *

 

“--still don’t know what the bloody hell I’m going to do, mate,” Hunter’s agitated voice could clearly be heard around the corner as Natasha stepped off of the elevator into the living room. “The gala’s this weekend, and it’s already Thursday. I can’t mess this up. Bobbi would kill me if I did.”

“Personally, I’m still surprised that she hasn’t had your ass on the couch for not asking her to the gala,” Skye could be heard snorting as Natasha rounded the corner, seeing the two of them sprawled out on the rug. “Hey, Nat. What’s kicking?”

“Your need for a date to the gala,” Natasha retorted as she gracefully plopped down beside them. “I heard that’s  _ way  _ up. Apparently you tried to ask that poor guy down in Admin. I think he’s recovering nicely.” Skye scowled at her, aiming for a punch in the arm. “And Hunter,” She turned the merc, who had a nervous look on his face. “What’s this I hear about a proposal?”

_ “How did you even hear that?”  _ Hunter’s voice had dropped to a whisper, knowing that Bobbi could be anywhere at any given time. “And keep your voice down! I don’t want Bob to know.” His face showed the pleading of a desperate man. “You’ve gotta help me, Romanoff,” he begged. “I gotta do this right.”

“What is with everyone in this Tower calling me Romanoff?” she muttered, reaching for a notepad and pen on the coffee table behind her. “I swear I’ve told them all at least once to call me Natasha. Especially FitzSimmons. I don’t even know what’s going on with those two.” Pen poised, she looked at Hunter expectantly. “Start with what you’ve got, and I’ll go from there.”

“I’ve got a speech written out,” Hunter began hastily, fishing a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket and handing it over to Natasha. Skye peered over her shoulder as the spy examined the handwritten speech, silently amused at all of the heavy crossouts and side comments. “I know it’s not much, but...”

“It’s a good start,” Natasha admitted, refolding it and handing it back over. “Did you have any idea on how you were going to read it?” There were a couple of ideas whizzing around in her mind, one of them including a grand speech following one of Tony’s debacles that was sure to have everyone’s attention. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to avoid Bobbi until she gets it out of you. That would suck.”

“I was thinking about making it on the gala stage,” Hunter answered nervously. “You know, have Stark introduce me and all that. Although it’s kind of hard to upstage Stark at one of these things.” He worriedly unfolded and refolded the paper in his hand. “At least I can’t get upstaged by someone making a last-ditch attempt to secure a date.” 

“I’ve got it!” Skye exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. Both Hunter and Natasha turned to look at the hacker, who now had excitement brimming in her dark, brown eyes. “Okay, so here’s how it’s going to go. You,” she turned to the merc, who was leaning forwards in anticipation. “are going to pretend to lose Bobbi in the crowd at the gala. Chances are that there are going to be a  _ lot  _ of people there that we don’t know. It’ll be easy. I’ll keep Bobbi distracted, since I’ll have nothing to do for the night anyways.” There was a scowl on Skye’s apparent lack of date once again. “You’ll appear on stage, asking for Bobbi, since you’ve apparently seemed to have lost her. ‘Tall, blonde, striking blue dress ringing a bell for anyone? Please? There’s something I need to tell her.’ And once she shows up, asking you what it is, you’re gonna rock the hell out of that speech and propose!” Skye finished with a flourish, leaving the other two quite impressed. “Huh? Huh?”

“That’s amazing, Skye,” Hunter beamed. “I don’t know how I didn’t think of that before!” Skye just jostled him gently in the side before getting to her feet. 

“That’s cause you’re a man, Hunter,” she answered, sending a smirk to Natasha, who was also getting to her feet. “You men don’t typically think outside of the box like this anymore. I wouldn’t take it too harshly. At least Natasha didn’t laugh at your groveling.”

As Hunter went off to memorize his speech, Natasha couldn’t help but feel like she’d somehow stepped into Pepper’s ‘mother hen’ shoes. It wasn’t a feeling she was accustomed to--but she could get used to it.  _ Now. Gotta find Skye a date... _

* * *

 

“No, no, no, no, no, this is  _ not  _ Romanoff’s Psychology Hour,” Natasha muttered as she saw the extremely long line of agents gathered outside her door. “What the hell?” she shouted down the line, causing all of the agents to freeze and slowly turn around. She gave them all her patented death glare--they couldn’t know she was suddenly stepping up and showing compassion. “Get the fuck out! And how did you all even get past security, anyways?!” The agents scattered for the elevator, save for one, who just stood there as Natasha stormed up to her door, still playacting for her own sake. 

“You,” she snapped at the lone figure, inserting her keys in. “You feel like risking your life or something? That’s the only explanation as to why you’re still here.” She stopped when the person behind her spoke up, in a dead quiet that nearly matched her own. 

“‘Romanoff’s Psychology Hour’? Have to admit, I haven’t heard that one before,” May answered, as Natasha guiltily turned around. “Do tell, does the invitation to ‘get the fuck out’ pertain to people who trained you? Because somehow, I’m not sure they’d take that as well as other people would.”

“Sorry, May,” Natasha sighed, swinging the door open and letting the senior agent in. “I’ve been giving out advice to Simmons and Hunter. Thought one of them had blabbed to the rest of the agency.” As it swung shut, she faced her mentor with an appraising look on her face. “Now. How can I help you?”

“What makes you think I came here for your help?”

“May. You’re  _ here _ . You’re not beating the shit out of something. You’re not wailing on your agents. You’re  _ here,  _ talking to me after being willing to wait in line with all of the lower level slime. Don’t tell them I said that,” she tacked on as an afterthought, fishing for a bottle of sparkling juice out of her refrigerator. “You need help.”

“I don’t trust Maria or Pepper to take me dress shopping.” That was May, blunt as usual. Natasha looked unaffected, taking a sip from her glass instead. 

“You want me to go dress shopping with you.” May looked almost unabashed as she nodded. “And you’re completely aware that I plan to wear sneakers with my dress. That’s the kind of person I am.” If that surprised her, she didn’t show it. “And you  _ still  _ want to go dress shopping with me.”

“Like I said. I don’t trust Maria or Pepper. And I know you hate dress shopping, but I thought given the most recent development in the Tower...” Natasha nodded, setting her glass in the sink. She went to pick up her keys from the hallway, slipping on a pair of flip-flops.

“Come on. I’ve got to go pick up one of the SI credit cards, and then we’ll be off. Tell me what your dress size is again?”

* * *

 

May was  _ really  _ starting to regret asking Natasha to go dress shopping. The redheaded spy had indeed lived up to her code name on the street, being absolutely thorough with her shop choices. For the two of them, there was no limit on where they could shop--being fluent in several languages helped. For that reason, Natasha had dragged May all around the city, merely grunting in dismissal when none of the boutiques on Fifth Avenue had turned up anything. However, they  _ had  _ turned up some handy pairs of heels and blazers that neither of them hesitated to snap up, even nearly getting into a fight with a couple of fashionistas. 

But finally, here they were, in a hole-in-the-wall shop that Natasha had somehow managed to remember the name of after 13 years, standing in their fitting room. May had to admit, the Russian had taste when it came to dressing people. She wouldn’t debate how she’d gotten that knowledge, though. She stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at her reflection. The dress Natasha had found was a hodge-podge of colors, a bold declaration that was almost like May herself. It started as a form-fitting tank-top, multicolored stripes branching out into a flowery cincher before flowing out into a long skirt, blues, reds, oranges and greens that somehow created flowers, but at the same time didn’t make it seem too feminine. Interspersed with white, it made it seem like May was wearing an artist’s canvas--but tastefully done. 

“I think we’ve got it,” Natasha answered casually, careful not to inflict any emotion into her voice. If she was at all excited, it would bring her reputation down for good. But at the same time, she didn’t want to come off as totally opinionless. “Phil’s going to be speechless.” 

“I hope so,” May sighed, carefully shrugging out of it. She threw her T-shirt and jeans back on, placing the dress back on its hanger. “He’s been alone for too long, Nat,” she admitted, turning to face her friend. “It’s killing him.” Natasha remained quiet, allowing her friend to let out her confession. “It’s killing me watching him.” May’s eyes drifted downwards to the floor. “Is it bad that I want to be by his side?” she asked no one in particular. “Is it bad that I’m still feeling, after all of the things I’ve done in my life?”

“No.” The word quickly escaped Natasha’s mouth, and she pursed her lips, as if trying to forget she’d ever uttered something of the sort. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.” She paused again, hesitating on whether she trusted May enough with a breach of her reputation. “If you’re not feeling, Mel, there’s something wrong.” 

May examined her student, who’d gone through unspeakable hell even before they’d met. With what Natasha had seen throughout her life, one would expect her eyes to be dead. But they were quite the opposite; in fact, they absolutely  _ sparkled  _ with vitality--the vitality that only love could provide. And  _ oh,  _ how May wanted to have that sparkle in her eye. Steve had done wonders for her, it seemed. “He’s changed you, hasn’t he?”

“He has,” Natasha answered, quietly smiling. “He really has.”

* * *

 

"Nat?" Steve sleepily muttered as he stretched out an arm for his girlfriend, confused when he didn't find her next to him in the bed. "Nat, where are you?" Slowly, he opened his eyes to find the mattress empty, Natasha's presences replaced by a solitary post-it note. He grabbed the square note and held it up to his face, squinting slightly at the blue piece of paper.  _ "Roof. You're in for a long overdue lesson." _ The note wasn't signed, simply embossed with a flower in the corner. Groaning, Steve stumbled out of bed, combing his hair into what he hoped passed for decent condition.

"About time," came Natasha's voice as he emerged onto the sunlit roof, her back to him. Surrounding him were flowers of every kind. Some were potted, others hanging from a trellis she'd set up overhead. She was situated on a wooden bench in the middle of it all, wearing a dark, olive dress with a braided leather belt cinched around her waist. “You realize how late you woke up this morning? I think even Stark’s even up by now.”

But Steve was too awestruck by the arrangement of flowers, especially the trellis. He was  _ sure  _ they hadn’t been there yesterday. Not when there’d been a pouring rainstorm that had had even Thor shaking his head at the weather. 

_ Had she really done all of this while he was asleep? _

“Not that I don’t appreciate the occasion, but...” he began, not sure whether she’d kill him or not for it, “just what exactly’s going on, Nat?”   


She stood in one fluid motion, walking over to him. Steve took the time to observe her body language--this wasn’t one of her games, as far as he knew--and found it open, relaxed, but slightly apprehensive at the same time. Natasha came to a stop in front of him, looking right into his eyes. “You once told me you had a date,” she began. “Peggy was going to teach you how to dance.” He kept his expression neutral, as so not to accidentally offend her. 

“And I still don’t.” He tried to shrug it off, but the thought occurred to him that he was  _ actually  _ going to have to dance at the gala. “I just figure I’ll do the best I can and try not to step on your toes, right?” Instead of answering, she took him by the hand and led him into the center of the flower arrangement, flitting off to a control panel on the side. When she returned, the beginnings of a guitar intro were streaming out of the Tower’s sound system. 

“Just listen to the song,” she advised solemnly, her tone holding a gravity he’d never seen. “Just listen to the song.” 

_ Take my hand _

_ Take a breath _

_ Pull me close _

_ And take one step _

As he pulled her in closely, he could hear her singing under her breath. He took a step backwards, then sideways, and suddenly, they were dancing. Startled, he almost messed up the rhythm, Natasha’s emerald eyes boring into him and grounding him to the earth. 

_ Keep your eyes _

_ Locked on mine _

_ And let the music _

_ Be your guide _

They were doing more than just the simple waltz now, as Steve twirled Natasha in a circle, a radiant smile illuminating her face. It was amazing how the whole thing really was effortless when the right person was in front of you. 

_ Won’t you promise me _

_ That you’ll never forget _

_ To keep dancing wherever we go next _

_ It’s like catching lightning _

_ The chances of finding  _

_ Someone like you _

_ It’s one in a million  _

_ The chances of feeling _

_ The way we do _

_ And with every step together _

_ We just keep on getting better _

Steve suspected that, if they had been normal, they would’ve figured out that they danced well together long before figuring out that they fought well together. But at the same time, if they’d been normal, it was likely they wouldn’t have found each other. 

_ So can I have this dance?  _

_ Can I have this dance? _

_ Take my hand _

_ I’ll take the lead _

_ And every turn _

_ Will be safe with me _

He hadn’t realized she’d been leading this entire time, but once she handed the reins over to him, the shift in control was apparent. It was no less fluid, though, and the couple went on dancing just like they had been before. 

_ Don’t be afraid _

_ Afraid to fall _

_ You know I’ll catch you _

_ Through it all _

Natasha squealed in delight as she was dipped, her long tresses almost brushing the edge of the rooftop. She came back up to see Steve’s face, full of unspeakable joy as he completed the maneuver with a twirl, the two of them coming right back into their standard hold.

_ And you can’t keep us apart _

_ (Even a thousand miles can’t keep us apart) _

_ Cause my heart is wherever you are _

This time, both of them knew what was coming, and Steve didn’t hesitate to sing along quietly with her, the two of them creating a duet that only they would remember. (That, and Stark’s security cameras, but they could always download and erase the footage later, right?)

_ Oh _

_ No mountain’s too high enough _

_ Ocean’s too wide _

_ ‘Cause together or not _

_ Our dance won’t stop _

_ Let it rain, let it pour _

_ What we have is worth fighting for _

_ You know I believe _

_ That we were meant to be _

_ It’s like catching lightning _

_ The chances of finding _

_ Someone like you _

A sudden rainstorm appeared out of nowhere, blending with the sun to create a weather phenomenon; Steve and Natasha didn’t flinch, only kept dancing through it all. It was a sign of  _ them,  _ of who they  _ were _ : a sign that they would be together, no matter what.

_ It’s one in a million  _

_ The chances of feeling  _

_ The way we do _

_ And with every step together _

_ We just keep on getting better _

_ So can I have this dance? _

_ Can I have this dance? _

They stopped, breathless, as the song ended and rain came down in torrential downpours, the sun somehow still shining through. Both of them were soaked to the bone, however, it didn’t seem to matter much as Natasha gathered Steve in for a long kiss. “I love you, you know.”

“Ah,” Thor muttered from his view at the living room window. “Good to know that storm was good for something other than watering those poor plants.”

* * *

 

The gala was in full swing by the time Bobbi and Hunter arrived, having been set back thirty or so minutes by a...compromising incident in the elevator. (“Let’s not mention that to the dear captain, yeah?” Hunter had muttered. “Wouldn’t want to corrupt the poor man.”) He’d immediately excused himself upon arriving to go get drinks, leaving Skye to swoop in on an unsuspecting Bobbi. 

“Don’t look now, but I swear the level 3s in the corner are giving you the stink-eye,” she muttered, handing the blonde agent a drink. “I don’t blame them. I’m pretty sure half of them tried to ask Hunter to the gala before he wised up and asked you.” Bobbi just laughed at her friend--it was obvious Skye was already slightly drunk. 

“Skye, how many drinks have you had?”

“Not enough that I’ll need one of the anti-wasted pills Stark has,” Skye giggled, listing to the side a little bit. “And I’m still plenty sober enough to do my job. Ooh, Steve!” Suddenly, she looked over at the good captain, who was dancing a tango with the Tower’s resident redhead. “Damn, but doesn’t he look fine tonight!” 

“Wow, you’re wasted,” Bobbi muttered, latching onto the junior agent so she wouldn’t lurch off in his direction. “Apparently inebriated enough that you’re willing to get your ass kicked by Romanoff.” Silently cursing the strength of Stark’s alcohol, she sent a warning look over to Natasha as she let Skye go, hoping to God the signal had been received.

There was no denying the smirk she received in return.

“Steeeeeeeeve!” Skye slurred, all but launching herself into his arms. Steve looked every version of surprised, sending Natasha a desperate glance. She only shrugged nonchalantly in return, grinning at him as she stepped away and over to Bobbi. 

“Well done,” was the appraising remark from the other woman. “I’m pretty sure Steve’s going to be traumatized in the morning.” The two spies watched as the music launched into a raucous rap song, colored strobe lights flashing accordingly. Skye grabbed Steve’s hand and started dancing with him in ways that would normally embarrass such company.

“Yeah, well, I think he needs it anyways,” Natasha’s voice was tinged with amusement as she quirked an eyebrow at the unconventional duo. “Where’s Hunter? We were waiting for the elevator for quite a while.”

Instantly, Bobbi’s face morphed into a scowl. “I wish I knew. Bastard ditched me as soon as we got here. Drinks honestly shouldn’t take this long,” she ranted to Natasha. “Unless he’s doing body shots, which I will  _ thoroughly kill him for _ .” As if in reply, her batons, cleverly disguised as chopsticks in her hair, crackled threateningly. 

Natasha frowned a bit--this really hadn’t been part of the plan--but stopped when a sight caught the corner of her eye. “I think he’s doing a good deed,” she murmured to Bobbi, motioning to the far right. Bobbi followed her gaze, squealing at what she saw. “I thought he’d asked her already.”

Hunter was dancing with a delighted Simmons, while Fitz scowled in the corner, looking like he had half a mind to beat the mercenary senseless with the nearest blunt object he found. “On a scale of one to Romanoff, how jealous do you think he is?” Hunter muttered to Simmons, who simply laughed. 

“I’d say he’s worse than Romanoff,” she joked, casting another glance at her surly partner. “You should have seen the time he met my first boyfriend.” To any outside observer, it looked like the two of them were exchanging intimate, inside jokes. 

This was  _ exactly  _ what it looked like to Fitz, and the green tinting his vision wasn’t helping his rationale. A small part of him wondered if this was what Dr. Banner saw every time he transformed into the Hulk, but he pushed that aside. This was bloody  _ Simmons  _ they were talking about.  _ Why Hunter, of all people? He’s too old. And ugh, would you look at that facial hair! He’s going to give anyone burns as soon as he touches them! Bloody inside jokes. She’d better not be telling  _ _ our _ _ jokes. They’re ours, dammit.  _

“I can’t take this anymore,” the scrawny scientist muttered. He marched over to where the couple were beginning to start a foxtrot. “ _ You, _ ” he emphasized while ‘forcefully’ wrenching Hunter and Simmons apart (Hunter had really gone easily, grateful for the distraction--he’d been on his way to the stage when he’d seen the scene--FitzSimmons getting together was too good an opportunity to pass up). “are not allowed to dance with him.”

“What’s gotten into you, Fitz?” Simmons cried, not noticing that Hunter had slipped away. “First you avoid me all week, and now you’re mad that I was dancing with Lance? What did I do to you that’s got you so riled up?”

“Oh, so you two are using first names now,” Fitz retorted back, crossing his arms. “I didn’t know you two were on that level of personal. Tell me, Jem, does anyone else know his first name? Besides Bobbi?” (Honestly? She’d only learned it during the last dance.)

“So  _ what  _ if I know his first name?” Simmons argued, feeling helplessly confused. “It’s not like he’s my date to the gala or anything. I don’t even have one!” She decided to go big or go home while she was ahead. 

“You know, Fitz, I’ve been wanting to ask you all week!” she shouted. “But you’re so damn complicated that every time I tried to corner you, you kept on running away! When the gala first came up, yes, I thought you were going to ask me. And when it became clear that you weren’t, I was going to!” She let out a half-scream of frustration. “I asked  _ everyone _ I knew to help me--I even went to Agent Romanoff, okay? That’s how desperate I was. And to have you running away all week? Do you know what that does to a girl?”

“Simmons.” Fitz was in pure shock. “You asked  _ Romanoff  _ about dating advice?” Because really, his mind was still attempting to process the fact that  _ she  _ would’ve asked  _ him _ , knowing how he was on dances and asking women to them. 

“Sure,” Simmons snorted, close to crying. “I give you that entire speech and  _ that’s  _ what you come up with.” He stared at her in wonder, looking absolutely beautiful in that floral dress of hers, and decided there was only one thing to do. 

He pulled out his ICER and shot at the window. 

Instantly, every agent turned a weapon on him. Fitz froze, his gun still in the air. He hadn’t expected  _ this  _ reaction. Everyone was quiet, not wanting to breathe a word to the potential HYDRA traitor in the room. “Hi, everyone,” he began nervously. “Um, I think we can all put our weapons down. I’m SHIELD. I’m Leo Fitz, in case you didn’t know? I do have something to say, however, so if I could have your attention?”

There was a gradual lowering of various guns, knives, and in Bobbi and Natasha’s case, both. 

“This woman here,” Fitz began, gesturing to Simmons, “was the greatest blessing to ever come into my life. We went through the Academy together, through field training together (even though I’m pretty sure my head was in the sand when she pulled me into that one), and through hell when that cell landed at the bottom of the ocean. And yet, she’s still here. Next to me.” He pulled her next to him, holding up their entwined hands. “And I would just like to take the moment to declare that she’s  _ my  _ date. I didn’t ask her before because I was a stuttering fool, but I hope this makes up for it.” Having run out of words, he squeaked out, “Thanks?”

For a moment there was silence. Then, from the back of the room, May started slow clapping. Coulson joined her, and it wasn’t long before the entire room joined in. The claps soon grew to include the occasional cheer, and Hunter even let out a loud whistle. “FITZSIMMONS FOR THE WIN!” As the hubbub subsided, Simmons pulled Fitz aside for a large hug. 

“You’re absolutely impossible sometimes, don’t you know?”

“Isn’t that why you put up with me?”

“Bobbi, he’s  _ not  _ leaving you, I swear,” Natasha consoled her, as Bobbi looked on the verge of crying into a drink. “Hunter loves you. There’s no way he would do that.”

“Sure,” Bobbi snorted. “That’s what he said last time, and look what happened to us then. Messy divorce for all concerned.” She sighed, plopping her head on the table. “I just thought that...maybe this time...things were going so well between us, you know?”

_ Hunter would owe her big time for this.  _

Just before Natasha could start plotting out various ways to kill the man to make Bobbi feel better, there was a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see Clint, looking absolutely smashing in a navy blue tux. “No, Clint, I can’t dance with you right now.” She gestured to the mess of a spy next to her. “Women’s problems.”

Clint frowned. “Umm....no, Nat. Not that. I need you to cover for me.” He made a phone motion while jerking his thumb at the door. “If Tony asks, I had awful food poisoning and am currently in the bathroom on the 44th floor. He hates those bathrooms.” Comprehension dawned on Natasha’s face, and she nodded. 

“Say hi to Laura and the kids for me, won’t you?” Clint grinned and nodded, starting towards the door stealthily. “Don’t stay up too late!”

“I always wanted a family,” Bobbi sighed, staring forlornly at her drink. “Doesn’t look like that’s happening anytime soon, though.”

Natasha opened her mouth to reply, but before she could answer, a loud screech emitted from the front of the room. Both women turned to see Hunter on the stage, fumbling with a microphone.  _ Finally. About time. I was about to get onstage and do it myself. _

“Uh, hi,” he began, bending down awkwardly to get the microphone to his height. “Sorry for your second distraction of the night, if you don’t mind. I’m Hunter. I helped FitzSimmons over there get together. If you ask me, they had it a long time coming.” He paused. “But that’s not why I’m here right now.

“I’ve kind of lost the person I came here with,” he admitted nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Bobbi Morse? Anyone happen to know where she is? No? No? See, there’s something I really need to tell her. It’s not something that can wait.”

“What do you want, Hunter?” Bobbi had threaded her way through the crowd until she was standing in the middle of the dance floor, the agents having left her with a small area. The proud blue of her dress was a contrast to her emotionally fragile visage. “Trust me, there’s not a lot you could say after this.”

“What if there was?” he asked, feeling bravado suddenly surge through him. Screw the speech. He could do this all on his own. “What if there were things that I wanted to tell you today, tomorrow, and for the rest of my life? What if there was the realization that, yes, Bob, I love you, and I want to love you forever? What if, for my entire life, I was looking for the perfect soulmate, and I wanted to tell her that I was stupid for leaving her the first time, and that it was the worst mistake that I’d ever made in my entire life? 

“And what if I told you that I  _ know  _ this time that I’m not going to leave you? That right here, right now, I promise to be with you for the rest of my life? What if I asked you, Barbara Morse,” He got down on one knee, amid gasps from the crowd, and drew a box out of his pocket. “to marry me?”

Bobbi was speechless for a moment, before turning back to Natasha. She only smirked at her, giving her friend an uncharacteristic thumbs-up.  _ She knew.  _

“Well, first I’d say that I was an absolute emotional wreck for the entire night because I thought you were leaving me,” she said to him. “Then I’d say that I should probably let Natasha kick your ass for doing this. 

“Then I’d probably tell you that I was stupid, too, for letting you leave the first time,” she said a little more softly. The rest of the world began to blur out in her vision, leaving only him in her sights. “And that I cried for nights on end, wanting you back. And lastly--” Her voice cracked a little. “I’d tell you that I want to make this work as much as you do. 

“I’d tell you that it’s a yes.” 

Loud cheers erupted from the entire crowd, louder than when FitzSimmons had gotten together. Bobbi was immediately swarmed by the entire Bus team as well as the Avengers, who all but crushed her in a hug. 

“I can’t believe you knew,” she accused Natasha, who was grinning madly. 

“I have to admit, I was scared when he was dancing with FitzSimmons,” she answered, glaring at Hunter, who had just come over to his now-fiancee. “That was most  _ definitely  _ not part of the plan.”

“It was too good to pass up!” he exclaimed. “Besides, Rogers. When you going to pop the question?” 

He regretted that question as the two of them began chasing him out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you come talk to me on tumblr (@typosandteabags) i'll love you! i automatically love you anyways

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked what you saw, come talk to me on tumblr @typosandteabags I promise I'm friendly :)


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